(More) Extra Innings

Here's what I know about wishes: they probably don't have much to do with beggars or uncles, and mine don't come true. If they did, I'd be dead.

That thought just occurred to me yesterday while I was riding into Hollywood. I was eager to arrive, stuck in traffic, and wished it was ten or fifteen minutes later so I could be there. Then, it dawned on me that this wasn't the first time I'd wished it was later than it was, not by a long shot.

If my wishes had come true, and my mother always cautioned me about "wishing my life away," I'd've chewed up my remaining years many times over, I think, in a series of half-hour and weekly chunks. I don't do it constantly, but it seems like I've done a lot of wishing I was just that much older, that it was next month or the next day, and I'm thinking, now, that if I'd gotten those wishes I'd probably be over one hundred years old by now.

So, it's a good things my wishes don't come true, not all of them, anyway.